Requiem
My Dear, don’t cry for me.
How I’d like to see you and our daughter Layla again,
I whispered all night, but of course, you couldn’t hear me.
Remember? The time we secretly grasped each other’s’ hands
On the bus to Nablus,
And our first kiss the following spring, listening to bird songs,
When the olive flowers were in full bloom.
And the words you said on the birth of our daughter,
Remember? Her eyes resembled mine, and her nose resembled yours.
Like her, the entire world seemed to belong to us,
But still there was something that you couldn’t comprehend.
Like the dark air surrounding us,
We grew more and more accustomed to the Palestinian fatalities,
And our life had turned into a prison.
Maybe, yes, maybe you are blaming me
Because I passed away first, leaving you and our five-year-old child.
You said that I was your whole world,
But the world I saw through my mother and brother’s innocent deaths
Was a place where all of life becomes unbearably fragile, from our home,
Across the Gaza Strip, beyond Egypt and the Mediterranean borders,
To the other side of the world.
I had no choice.
I wasn’t afraid of dying,
Because my life had held the hand of Death already.
Dear one,
They rummaged through every nook of the shattered fountain
Where I smashed my body into 1000 pieces.
But they only found the torn bodies of dozens of Israeli soldiers.
I’ll tell you secretly, the ring you gave me
Is in the drain on the left side of the fountain.
Nobody found it, so please give it to Layla
Once the world is at peace.
Hold on to it as to my memory,
A token by which sadness can be exchanged for new hope.
Owing to me, you were ostracized and beaten down.
I hope you find another sweet pretty girl someday.
And forgive what I have done.
.
Jeong Han-yong: poet, born in 1958, poetry 『How to Make a Mink Coat』 etc.
Translated by Seth Feldman(Canada, b. 1977) is a teacher, writer and musician
